Aspin
by LeDarko
Summary: A wasteland mercenary signing up with the Crimson Caravan is sent on an expedition into the territory of Caesar's Legion where he comes across a little girl he can't bring himself to abandon.


**Aspin  
Chapter I**

Freeside was what anyone would call the slums of the grand city of lights, New Vegas. It surrounding Vegas, the only thing standing between the two cities a four-foot thick steel and concrete wall. Freeside was called home to drug addicts, dealers, murderers, people who busted the bank in Vegas, and everything in between; they called themselves squatters. It was a rather lager area, and the larger the area, the more the homeless gathered. By no means, was it a beautiful area; buildings crumbled, crime was rampant, the only traversable roads were biding their time just waiting to be blocked off by rubble.

A mercenary smirked and slung his binoculars along his chest to his side, and picked up his rifle leaning against the concrete wall. From where he sat, on top of a building in western Freeside, John "Aspin" Ansel had a clear view of the first courtyard of the New Vegas strip. He wasn't able to get into Vegas for this particular job, so he had to make do with what he had. He sat on the edge of the building with his back to a crumbling pillar. Sighing, he rested the barrel of his rifle on his forearm and his forearm on his knee. Peering through the scope, his crosshairs scanned the crowds bustling through New Vegas. About a minute had passed before he found who he was looking for: one Caleb McCaffery.

The bounty hunter had never really been intimidated by Aspin when he first arrived in Freeside a couple months ago drunk as ever and without a cap to his name. But when the Garret twins had begun to go to Aspin for his more efficient work, the bounty hunter had gotten quite ornery; Aspin even remembered a time where McCaffery had made it a point to talk to him and give him a "warning" to back off or he'd kill him. And now, at the whim of Francine Garret, here he sat with his crosshairs centered on McCaffery's balding head. Aspin laughed; gallows humor.

McCaffery had lost his composure and stolen close to two thousand caps from the Garret's. And here he was, stumbling down the side walk with a smug look upon his grizzled face. He winked at one of the dancers in front of the strip-casino Gomorrah and shifted a heavy looking bag on his shoulder. "I've got you know, you stupid son of a bitch…" Aspin muttered under his breath.

McCaffery stopped and looked around, a grin on his face. Then, he seemed to look right at Aspin; Aspin squeezed the trigger. In the next instance, his head snapped backwards, a jet of black mist shooting out of his nasal cavity. The loud crack of the rifle's report had sent the crowds running into buildings and behind cover. Securitron robots engaged their security protocols and began patrolling through the streets with their sirens on, searching for the assassin. However, by the time anyone realized the assassin was no longer there, Aspin had already weaved through the panicking crowds of Freeside and was already pushing in the door to the Atomic Wrangler.

* * *

"It's done, Francine." Aspin said into his glass, swirling around the amber liquid.

"Yes," she began, her square jaw setting in and her already narrow eyes narrowed further. "I've heard."

"What?"

"Don't you dare 'what' me, John Ansel." Francine started. "You're getting reckless as of late, and I'm getting real tired of your bullshit."

Aspin stared at her with his silent blue eyes.

Francine glared back with her own hazel eyes. "You almost beat Santiago to death over his caps last month. A few days ago, you almost shot a patron because 'he was annoying you.' And now, here you sit, in my bar without _any _evidence, and half of Freeside already knows something's up."

"Please," Aspin cut in. "You know I'm good for it. I'm probably the best mercenary in all of Freeside. I have contacts."

"Fuck your contacts. I run a business, not a contact shop."

"Right now, security is tossing Caleb's body into the desert, never to be seen again. Also right now, a jet addict squatter is looting his corpse. Later tonight, Caleb's big, giant hat will be sitting right here." He touched the bar with his index finger.

Francine's expression softened a little, but Aspin wasn't even looking at her. "And?"

"And," Aspin continued after taking a big swallow out of his glass and scrunching his face at the sour burn sliding down his throat. "Before I took your job, a friend of mine, for an amount of caps, keep in mind, is with instructions to spread rumors in about…" He looked at a clock on the wall. "Ten minutes."

"I've been good to you, Aspin."

"That you have. But I've done everything you ask of me. Just not how you want." He looked at her. "I'm a mercenary. I improvise."

Francine clenched her jaw. Aspin was a good employee, she thought, but he was getting too comfortable with himself. "Where would you go if I let you go?"

Aspin looked at her thoughtfully. "Probably to the Crimson Caravan as a caravan guard."

"You have to understand, Aspin," Francine began. "I run a business here. No amount of bribery is going to make business any better. Discretion is the name of the game. If people think I have people killed, they won't like me, but they will keep returning for booze and escorts." Aspin leaned back, holding onto the bar. "But, if they know I have people killed, they're not likely to come back and get drunk and blow their caps because they will fear I will have them killed. See?"

Aspin stared.

"I think that you're starting to become more of a liability than an asset." Francine said, taking Aspin's empty glass and began hand cleaning it. "Way back when, when someone developed life draining cancer, they had it cut off."

"So I'm cancer?" Aspin laughed.

"That's not what I meant."

"That's not what you said." He smirked. "Quit beating me around the head with it and just tell me."

"You're fired."

"Now was that so hard?"

Francine watched as he slipped off his barstool and start towards the door. The door opened. The door closed. She let out an exaggerated sigh; cutting Aspin loose would be a big loss for the business, but the costs of keeping him on would have been worse. She let her head hang down and spotted a satchel on the bar. He hadn't even asked for his caps.


End file.
